Long French Poems
Long French Poems. Below are the most popular long French by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long French poems by poem length and keyword.
Imagine yourself on the French Riviera.
The water will glitter whether you’re here or not - the surf will crash, the sand will get everywhere and the sun will scorch.
If you do come, bring polarized sunglasses and lots of sunscreen.
Once here, don’t bother to check your phone, there’s no signal. It’s about the only reason to feel conflicted in this paradise.
This is Héraclée, France, the sun is hotly blinding - its radiant smile forever fixed on the ivory strand and rolling sea.
The native pines and lavender, siren the same age-old scents that so charmed Roman legions - that they conquered Gaul gently.
The winding coastal route your Uber snakes - for pleasure’s sake, was built by the army of Augustus Caesar, over two thousand years ago.
These champagne sands are the same scorching fields that greeted Hannibal's Carthagin march to Rome.
Of course, the only thing being conquered these days will be your heart - and the only thing being scorched is your bank account.
Héraclée’s always here, come and find yourself - even if you aren’t particularly lost, but remember:
each time you try to check your phone, Caesar’s laughing.
.
.
Songs for this:
Malibu by Miley Cyrus
Crazy (feat. Alan Scaffardi) by Papik
Someday I will know what courses my brain,
like going far, from car seat to car door,
and wondering if I needed a cane,
as I sit and wait, and guess a bit more.
I seemingly sense that I'm out of place,
someday I will know what courses my brain,
I feel I'm at home and not lost in space,
so I'll compose myself and think again.
I don't wear glasses yet words are a strain,
nor a hearing aid, --just my persona,
someday I will know what courses my brain,
but I see English--Eh?--Barcelona!
As I'm heading towards the French border,
"The rain in Spain falls gently on the plain",
fades away. Check-point, stutter disorder...
someday I will know what courses my brain.
Life is a Stage...Act 1, Scene 1 (the only one...?!?)
Remodel my being this enigmatic, next summer. You broke all the rules risking collapse.
I cannot read your thoughts - a disrupted connection - a handsome dead poet with genius for
love. I'm dressed in white petals, dreams in my hair. French manicure - ten shells of Pacific
squeezing your fingers so cold and so white that hold all the secrets of Oneness in life...
I know you can see me behind marble layers. Reality can't slap me ever again !
The stage - improvised by romantics at heart, the curtain - a time splash wrinkled in vain.
It started to rain, the roof will soon cry... Lights and the show starting majestic.
Your thoughts in my heart exploding with passion...
Applause and encore !
..short exit:
Shadow and I...
For The Rambling Poet's Contest " Life is a Stage "
When I eat salt it awakens the boys
They talk to the tongue, making all kinds of noise.
One bit of sugar leads to sixteen bits of another.
I learned this the hard way, warned by my mother.
Sugar and salt, the two things I love the very most.
I eat them with chocolate, on peanut butter toast.
I cannot get enough of salt or sweet things.
They are going to kill me. So ding ding a ling?
We have to die of something? It might as well be salt.
I love potato chips and French fries, and a big chocolate malt.
I cannot get enough of cake, pudding, ice cream and pie.
If I cannot have them, frankly, I’m ready to die.
Tears are falling, but oh dear this is not a time for weeping,
oil fell on my cat- now, I am sobbing and she is creeping;
but crying won't solve anything- I must stop the oil from seeping !
It was just a quarter cup that caused all this wailing and crying,
and cat sobbing- as I was about to do some French fry frying;
that is why I am weeping for behind me she was peacefully lying !
Now her pretty fur is covered with oil and she won't stop weeping.
I try to hold her but I am sobbing and she is running and leaping,
she is so slippery and crying- but, in my arms she is keeping !
She fights, as I rub her the wrong way for the first time in nine years,
in fact, it takes nine baths in dawn soup in order to do the fur repairs;
now, she is the cat's meow- gone all weeping, sobbing crying and tears !
______________
July 16, 2021
Written for the contest, The Goblins Jewel Box 1
sponsor, Jack Webster
The match was so exciting,
No one clearly in the lead.
Though Rafa won a tiebreak,
Nothing else was guaranteed.
The second set had started,
Rafa sweating in the heat.
While playing on his birthday,
He would not accept defeat.
Approaching six games all,
Another tiebreak on the rise,
His opponent turned his ankle
And fell down before our eyes.
His pain appeared enormous;
He was helped to leave the court
In a wheelchair, as he realized
All his hopes had come up short.
So Nadal is in the finals;
He “walked over,” as they say.
Not one soul, including Rafa,
Wished for it to end that way.
*French Open Semi-Finals
Rafael (Rafa) Nadal vs. Alexander Zverev
My Lark, whom I plucked in the Dark
Alouette, gentille alouette
Aloutte, je te plumerai
Alouette(a) we are all a wetta
Alouette(a) I will pluck you dry
Pluck you dry, pluck you dry
Ben oui, mais ben oui, lets look to the sky
Alouette(a), gently let me caress you
Alouette(a), these words make us wetta
Je te plumerai le bec
Je te plumerai le bec
And a kiss
And a kiss
More more kiss
Alouette, let me kiss you oh my my
I will look you in the eyes
Avec un bec
Je suis un mec
Alouetta, let me make you wetta
Alouetta, let me hold you near
I will pluck your wings you hear?
Just to keep you close and near
Alouetta, let me keep you here my dear
And you legs
And your neck
And you your eyes
Alouetta, I caress your coeur so red
Alouette, my love will make you wetta
Et le cœur
Et le bouche
Et les ailes
Alouetta, je te donne un bec(a)
Alouetta, je te plumerai
Alouette, je suis un beau mec (a)
Alouette, je te donne un grand bec(a)!!!!
Svp, Svp
Alouette I will make you wetta
Alouette I will make you mine!!!!
Notes and Physiologists notes!
Ok LOL where to start
Alouette is a Lark in English
"Alouette" is a popular French Canadian children's song about plucking the feathers from a lark, in retribution for being woken up by its song. Although it is in French, it is well-known among speakers of other languages
I of course used many play on words to turn this into a lyrical naughty love verse based on the song. Not only did I intermingle French and English, but some of the play on words apply, even only in French. I know many will not understand the French, however the English language is universally used for the very reason that is does incorporate so many words from other languages. Anytime you bring ideas together, you are uniting rather than dividing, a theme in many of my poems.
Alouette = Lark, I misspelled it sometimes as Alouetta as that’s more how you would pronounce the word in English.
Je te plumerai = I will pluck you
Bec = beak in English, but in French can also mean a kiss
Ben = is closer to how the Quebecois accent would sound
Mec = boyfriend a term more used in France
Svp = abbr for “please”
Some words I spelled phonetically for those with cell phones.
Do I really need to explain “wet-ta” ? LOL
France gave America the Statue of Liberty,
In 1865, from Edouard de Laboulaya, his act;
It begot Joan of Arc who insisted that,
Nationality bet religion as a matter of fact.
The Free French were renown in WW II,
For an innate determination which alit,
The will of those sinking around them,
For the democratic heart that was split.
It produced Thomas Piketty with his book Capital,
Which called for a global tax of all richer states,
To redistribute income for egalitarianism,
For freedom and for the poverty liberation straits.
The death of Jihadi John set it all off,
As he was the symbol of the Islamic State,
Most definitely and without reservations,
He was the one with the credal slate.
But France today has an interventionist policy,
In Syria, and is the most vocal nation of all,
Insisting that President Assad needs to go,
To enable free democracy to stand tall.
In 2010 Qatar, an Arab state with oil and gas,
Won the bid to host the 2022 FIFA World Cup;
When a UK government employee questioned this,
In November 2014, he caused a very real hiccup.
France was said to have validated Qatar,
To chief Sepp Blatter who was eventually removed;
I can’t dismiss that Qatar would have reciprocated,
With gifts of money for the French to be proved.
With some of Qatar’s money, flowing and free,
France would’ve strengthened its foreign policy,
Doubled its presence in Syria, or even tripled it,
With the USA and others following likewise - oui.
So the French people’s ability to fight ISIS,
Is important to Syrian Islamists who are fully aware,
That the size of an army determines its success,
Thus Qatar’s allegiances are ISILs concern to beware.
~The Holy Bible ~
(Quatern)
It tells the beginning of man
How He created all from start
He made the moon, stars, day and night
It tells of God's great love for man
It tells of God's great sacrifice
It tells the beginning of man
Its authors were inspired by God
Some deny, others accept it
And keep it so close to their hearts
Many walk in darkness, are blind
It tells the beginning of man
Thru this Book we get to know God
Meet Jesus His Son, our Savior
It's the 'Good Book' to live life through
It tells of man's future, also
It tells the beginning of man.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2008
February.04.2017
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)
-“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16 (NIV)
- Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer
Romans 12: 12 ( NIV )
-The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
Exodus 14: 13 ( NIV )
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~Author's Notes:
The " Quatern" is a sixteen line French poetry form or style. It is similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne.
I woke up to his angry heavy footsteps again
my terrified beating heart is thick, not thin
the steps stop, and I am hoping it is my imagination of course.
But I hear him clear his throat, like a deer or a horse
my eyes pop open, I expect to see my shadow man
He can terrify me faster than almost anyone can
He’s my resident ghost, but what does he want?
I feel the bed go down a bit, and I hear a grunt.
Terrified more than ever, I say “How can I help you?”
He whispers one word. I think it is Stu..
Was this your house? I ask, holding my breath.
He materializes for a second, reminds me of my son Seth.
the bed rises, and I know he is going away.
Wait! Tell me how I can help! I manage to say.
My voice is hoarse, I am feeling scared of course.
“murdered,” he says sadly, his voice is hoarse.
I do some research and find a Stuart Blue.
He lived in this house until 1972.
He died at forty-six, they said suicide.
Now I wonder if his wife had something to hide.
I look her up and she welcomes me in.
She looks enough like my mother to be her twin.
She invites me to tea, but I dare not eat there.
After she tells me she has outlived Stu, Stan, Henry and Bear.
I found Stu's French Shriner dress shoes in my attic yesterday.
I told him about his wife, that she did not live far away.
Found out later that she passed away that very night.
Wonder is she saw Stu's ghost and died of fright?